Embarrassment at the Grocery Store: What it Really Means

This isn't a terribly Thanksgiving-ish blog post, but I thought I'd just go ahead and post it anyway. It is the fruit of my very first dedicated morning writing session, which happened last week.

I find I like to be thought well of. I feel terribly embarrassed if I do something I think makes me look stupid. Physical embarrassments don't bother me. Intellectual or commonsensical embarrassments do. That's why going to the grocery store can be such a chore. Tuesday night I told my husband it is an exercise in humiliation. I feel like such a ditz when I'm in the grocery store.

On Tuesday night I bought a gallon of milk in addition to those items purchased with WIC vouchers. First she asked me if I wanted to pay for the milk, which is protocol, but still rather embarrassing. When she told me the price, $4.35, for some reason I got it in my head that when I gave her a five dollar bill and the necessary coins that would be it. Consequently I was surprised when she handed me back a dollar. I looked at that dollar confusedly for a moment, which prompted the cashier to ask me if anything was wrong. I explained, using far more words that were necessary, and I imagine the cashier didn't notice that I was bothered, but I was. I don't always notice my own feelings until many moments later, at which time they sink in very painfully. This is part of what I mean when I say it is difficult being a person like me.

I came home. I complained to Michael. I wondered aloud why it was God has to humble me like this on almost a daily basis. A few moments later I started singing the chorus of a song, which struck me as truthful only after I had repeated it a time or two. “I'm a stranger in this la-and/ Won't You take me by the hand/ I can hear that distant band/ but I'm still a stranger in this land.” It turns out my pain in the grocery store isn't about humbling. It's a reminder that, while God has made me with the roots of all the attributes and character traits He means for me to have, I never ought to get too comfortable here. If I were always comfortable and self-actualized (whatever that means) I might become complacent; I might forget how very much I need God as my comforter and sustainer. Don Chaffer's song goes on to say, “And all I've got to do-oo/ is to believe on You-oo/ then every struggle seems worthwhile/ I can see the promise of Your smile...”

Yes, I'll say it again. Those Don and Lori Chaffer/Waterdeep songs mean a lot to me. I had to take a moment to go online and look up those lyrics, which pulled me briefly out of the writing-process. Now I'm struggling a bit to get back into it.

I used to think I didn't embarrass easily, but I do. I really, really do. It's only that I don't get embarrassed by the same things others are embarrassed by. I am embarrassed my my habit of misinterpretation, which wouldn't be a big deal if I weren't committed to care in interpretation. I most often have trouble interpreting visual information. When Michael and I watch a movie together, particularly one in which the characters all have Western European accents, I often am able to explain dialog to my husband, but he has to explain anything that is only shown on-screen. If it is spoken, I'll usually get it. If it is only shown, I'll usually miss it. This catches me by surprise every time, and I have to ask him over and over again what just happened. He is very tolerant of me in this. I am also surprised by the fact that, while Michael does not tend to remember names, he is very good with faces. He'll recognize an actor that we've seen in other productions, and I'll wind up checking on IMDB (Internet Movie Database, one of my favorite and most visited websites) to find out he is right.

Other things that embarrass me. Standing ovations at concerts or plays. Clapping in church. It doesn't matter who is doing the clapping, or for whom, I always feel a guilty smile coming over my face, as though I were the one on stage. Even though everyone around me is doing it, still I resist. I almost always stop clapping before everyone else does, unless I am really, really pleased, as when we went to see Gillian Welch at the Work-Play.